17. Sicily #3
“I must use your shampoo otherwise I do not smell you nearly enough in my direct vicinity and it causes my chest to hurt. I must ensure that I swap our pillows routinely each night otherwise I cannot sleep without your scent surrounding me. I must keep my clothes in the same closet as yours because when you dress there, you spray your perfume too many times and it soaks mine and I cannot function without being reminded of you throughout the day. I must not tell you about who I am in case I cannot have you any longer.”
My pussy was screaming, clamping around his cock like a vise, but my heart was losing just as much control.
“I’m—”
“You are a problem, but you are one I do not wish to solve. Ever.”
I had never heard the sound that left his lips, it was strained and somewhere between a plea and a moan, but it sent me crashing into a place that was pure pleasure, purely him.
“Yes,” he whimpered like he hadn’t just been bleeding and choking and the devil himself. “Come on my cock. Please. Let me have you.”
My back bowed as I came in unrelenting waves and forced my tears to leak from my eyes. I knew it wasn’t possible to die of coming too hard, but when it didn’t stop, I decided I would be okay if I died in Milan’s arms like this.
I forgot, in that moment, that I’d ever belonged to a world that hadn’t wanted me because I was falling into a space that was simply him.
He wanted me despite not being capable of want.
Milan might’ve been king, but he ruled a world being created for me, and that held a place more powerful than any queen.
“Fuck!” he swore as I flopped lifeless in his arms, and his thrusts became jagged and out of control. “Are you on birth control?”
I nodded limply, and if I’d had anything left to give, that word on his tongue would’ve sent me over the edge again, but he stilled, groaning as he filled me with his warmth, his cock twitching and rolling and emptying everything he had.
The sight of him utterly undone was one that my brain frantically sketched into every crevice of my memory.
Milan lowered himself on top of me gently, panting, still holding onto some of his weight. He didn’t pull out, not yet, like we couldn’t be separated, like we didn’t want to be.
It was so quiet. So still. The air in the room had to adjust to the disruption we’d caused, but the world beyond it melted away, leaving us in a warm, sex-scented bubble.
Milan cradled me as I threaded my fingers through his ruffled locks of hair. He trailed small kisses from behind my ear to my throat, softening into the complete opposite of the man he’d just been.
I felt small in his arms, small but untouchable, and I wanted him to stay like that, I could’ve stayed like that, but he pulled out of me too soon, and I winced at the loss of him, the slight twinge of soreness, and then at the blood.
“Oh my god!”
“Indeed.” He exhaled, still panting. “That is an accurate exclamation for the way my cum is dripping out of you.”
My jaw dropped momentarily before I focused again. “There is so much blood. So much mess. I’ll clean it, let me get something—”
Milan gripped my wrist and forced me back onto the chaise, his eyes containing what would be love if he knew what that felt like. “You will sit down and not move. I will return, and you will still be here, yes?”
I didn’t know if I nodded. I only knew that he was going to look after me.
My eyes fluttered closed, aware of a gentle breeze from a newly opened window, and the sound of another adjacent door being creaked open. I moaned when a warm cloth cleaned and soothed the sore throb between my thighs and I was dragged into Milan’s lap, his body still and safe.
“Are you okay?” I croaked, nestling my head against his heart.
He cupped my head against his chest. “Are you?”
“I asked you first.”
“I am only well if you are.” He kissed my forehead, rocking me slightly. “Was I too rough with you?”
“No,” I said instantly through a yawn. “I think I’m a psycho. I liked it.”
His chuckle was a lullaby, the purest, deepest one that soothed my soul. “Your dark side is safe with me, angel.”
“I’m sorry about the mess. I know it bothers you.” I was so tired that I wasn’t sure if the words had been said aloud.
A deep kiss, one that almost hurt, was pressed to my jaw as he lowered me to the pillow.
“Your mess is not mess. I have come to understand that anything you do is logically sound because you did it, and you are a strict requirement for my existence.” His voice began to drift far away as he said, “I think I-I know that I feel—for you—” He groaned, somewhat frustrated. “Please do not leave me without you.”
“I’m not going anywhere, Milan.”
There was a pause, but his breathing grew heavy, like his lungs were burning, like he was ready to extinguish that flame.
“Milan?”
“I am not a Lucca, and therefore neither are you,” he said quickly, suddenly, almost desperately. “My true father’s name is Stefano Fera, and I unrightfully claimed the Lucca inheritance, and—” He paused, only continuing when he inhaled deeply. “And I am the reason my mother is dead.”